Author's Note: Abide by the rating please: mild language ahead.

Buttercup: "You mock my pain." Man in Black: "Life is pain, Highness. Anyone who says differently is selling something."

–Princess Bride (1987) (AN: I quote this because I can)

Chapter 5: Heroes of the Old Do Gather

(Informally: A Superhero Slumber Party)

"I don't care what you have to say Clint, I can't deal with you right now- Who are you and what are you doing here."

"…Umm…"

"I won't ask again so nicely: who are you and why are you here?"

Peter crossed his eyes and stared down the barrel of the gun to the angry Russian woman pointing the weapon at him, pondering his options. This must be Natasha Romanov, A.K.A. Black Widow. 'Huh' had some interesting articles about her… Hmm, while I want to think that a member of the Avengers, a team dedicated to fighting for the protection of the human race and the upholding of justice and such, wouldn't point a loaded gun at an unarmed civilian, I don't think a professional spy would carry a dummy firearm… And man, she looks pissed… Oh, wait, I have the perfect prop for this.

Raising the arm that wasn't carrying his doomed phone, Peter ventured, "I come in peace?"

"Hey Nat, I'm really- no, I'm not at all sorry, but I do have apology cookies- Hey, isn't that Cap's shield? Great, he's been freaking out about that all day. Come on in kid, take a seat!"

The assassin lowered her gun a fraction and turned her head slightly, peering over her shoulder at the approaching man. Peter flinched back a bit as he felt his spider-senses start to scream at him when a small smirk pulled at her lips and a sharp glint entered her eyes. "Such inconsiderate dismissal of a lady is unbefitting of an American gentleman, Barton. Don't worry; I will take the initiative to help you correct your flawed etiquette."

The next few minutes would have probably haunted Peter for weeks to come based off what he'd read about the Russian, and he mentally patted himself on the back for his quick thinking as he stared at the oddly pristine elevator floor in the corner he was crouched in, hands over his ears, for saving himself from increasing his already undoubtedly elephantine future psychiatric therapy bills. Sheesh, I can see my own reflection in the tiles; this floor is way too shiny for a communal elevator. Well, there are a lot of floors, so maybe there is a need for excessive cleanliness since some might spend tons of time in here during the rides. That would explain the flat screen and Wii… "Bing". Mute the phone, mute it! Mustn't bring attention over here. Pay no mind to the clothed lump in the corner and continue on with your own battle of which I'm not a part of.

A minute later the faint sounds of a likely one-sided fight faded from behind him, leaving only the chorus of the Little Mermaid theme song playing in place of elevator music. Removing his hands from his ears, Peter bowed his spine and tipped his head back to check for any continuing violence and survey the resulting damage. When his inverted view reveled no scarlet-haired mercenaries and only a body lying face down on the carpeted ceiling next to a plate of untouched cookies, Peter righted himself and gratefully unfolded his body from the unholy corner before stepping out into the hallway with the Captain's shield held in front of him. He stopped once the prone body was at his feet and stared down at the trickle of blood coming from underneath the head in mild concern.

The downed man abruptly twisted his neck to peer up at Peter in earnest. "Give it to me straight Doc; am I gonna live?"

Peter leaned down to scrutinize the man's face closely, taking on his newly assigned persona with pride. "I don't know, that split lip looks like it could be infected. But with some medicine…"

"Yes?"

"And a few days rest…"

"Uh huh?"

"And a cat scan…"

"Right?"

"And a jug of peanut butter…"

"…ok…?"

With a sympathetic exhalation, Peter jerked up and stared down his nose at his patient. "There's no cure. I'm sorry, but know I'll take excellent care of your cookies after you're gone."

Clint widened his eyes pitifully at the stranger. "You dick." Then a burst of laughter sent the archer rolling across the floor, with care so to avoid trampling his treasured plate. "He joked back, he actually played with me and joked back. He didn't kick me in the ribs, or try to mute me with the TV remote, or tell JARVIS to eternally banish me from the tower, or threaten to put a bar of soap in my mouth," was gasped out between delighted giggles.*

"You have horrible friends," Peter observed as he finally took in the room he had arrived in. It looked comfortable, lived-in; there was a wide open space with a high ceiling in front of the elevator doors containing a series of mismatched couches and recliners with blankets thrown over them surrounding a television overhanging a redbrick fireplace. Facing the elevator doors, to the left a large kitchen area broke off with the floor switching from dark carpeting to cork to mark the change, and to the right a hallway lead farther into the building. Overall, surprisingly domestic. Hearing the torrent of laughter beginning to subside, Peter took the chance to help the hero from the floor and lead him to one of the chairs, leaving the shield and his case leaning against one of the ottomans.

"Don't put me on the red caquetoire; its Nat's, and if I bleed on it she'll know and I'll be dead."

"All right, whatever," Peter murmured, redirecting himself towards a white couch before dumping the man on it and taking a seat. He shrugged at the startled gasp and following glare. "No use pampering a condemned man."

"Dick." Clint settled himself in before responding to Peter's previous statement. "Friends, co-workers, partners, whatever you want to call them- eh, they aren't so bad. They could be worse. Have you ever met Deadpool?"

"Not in person, no." Yet. "Why, what is he?"

"Worse."

"Ah." Getting cancer and then joining the Weapon X program would drive anyone crazy. But I really wish I had known about him before I designed my suit… we look like fraternal twins whose mother wanted identical twins and is in denial. "Still, you did just get your ass handed to you by one of them over… whatever; that's not very team spirit-y."

"Well, Nat was pretty pissed about…" cough "whatever, and besides, she is actually one of the easier ones to deal with."

"Really?" Peter cocked an eyebrow.

"Yessir. She doesn't turn into a green rage monster when I irritate her, at least. And once she catches you, all you have to do is stay still and play dead fish until she gets bored, which usually only takes a minute or two, and then her ire is acquitted."

"It's play possum."

"What?"

"… Never mind. That still doesn't sound 'easy' to me."

"Why are you worried about it?" Clint grinned. "Does she scare you?"

Peter thought about the many horrors he had faced as Spider-Man: the thieves and murderers, the mutated Dr. Connors, Harry's transformation into the Green Goblin, the death… then he thought about the look in Natasha's eyes before he'd turned away. "Yes."

"That's a healthy attitude," Clint intoned. "But she does have some mercy, you know. It's not entirely death and doom around here all the time."

"Ok."

"Yeah."

Peter stared contemplatively at Clint for a minute. "The mercy you're talking about is her sparing the cookies, right?"

"Yeah."

"Ok."

The quiet that settled over them wasn't the same as what he had experience with Steve, but it was still oddly comfortable. And so was the recliner. Peter could easily imagine relaxing after a night out on patrol as Spider-Man, sinking into the warm leather, closing his eyes…

"Hey." Peter's eyes shot open and he glanced over at Clint. "I don't mean to bring up any traumatic memories, but really; who are you and what are you doing here?" Oh yeah. I'm here for a reason. I was going to…

Before Peter could answer, a dinging herald the arrival of a new load from the elevator. It was not a quiet one, and the group left Peter silently reeling from his seat.

"- and that is how human children are born, big guy."

"I understand; many thanks for the clarification, Man of Iron. I've spent so much time here as of late, yet I did not realize the reproduction process was so different on Earth than in Asgard."

"Tony, please stop messing with the god. Thor only just got here last night."

"Aw, come on Spangles, it's all in good fun. Back me up here Brucey."

"… Who is that sitting in my chair?"

All eyes turned to a curled up Peter, who had taken to humming the Disney tune that the damn elevator had gotten stuck in his head under his breath in order to calm down. He wasn't quite there yet, so he let the party of grown men continue squabbling among themselves.

"Ah," Steve smiled upon spotting him, "hello Peter, how are you?"

"Who is this Peter?" Thor asked

"Yea, who is he?"

Steve turned a disapproving eye onto Tony. "You just met him yesterday. You invited him over to the Tower for helping me recover from the injuries you caused, Mr. Stark. I just mentioned him in the elevator a minute ago!"

"Ooh, I got a 'Mr. Stark'. Does that mean I'm in trouble?"

The Captain gritted his teeth. "Yes."

Tony gasped. "Oh no!" He dived behind Bruce in a bid for safety. "Hide me Bwucey! The mean swolders gunna huwrt me!"

"Is that so?" Bruce mused, glancing over his should at Tony. "Maybe I'll help him."

"Traitor! Defector! Renegade!"

Peter finally felt his brain come back on line and hurriedly mentally went over everything he had heard. He turned to Thor, a frown creasing his forehead.

"Excuse me, but you arrived back on Earth last night, right?"

The god beamed at Peter. "That is indeed correct, human child."

"Does your appearance have anything to do with the abrupt rainstorm today?"

"Of course," Thor thundered. "After many nights spent in Asgard leading up to and in the wake of my brother's trial, I was gladdened to return to this world. The skies recognized my joy and opened themselves up in acknowledgement, lending their live-giving substance to all. It is a wondrous event, no?"

Peter was unimpressed with the speech. "I had to practically run across Manhattan with an American flag-colored shield over my head to avoid the copious amount of water bulleting down on me. My skateboard became a casualty. So, no."

A loud barking laugh broke out. Peter looked at Tony and saw the man bent over in mirth.

"You used the Cap's shield as an umbrella? Oh, that's prefect! Hahaha ha haha," he gasped out.

"It's been used as worse," Steve commented.

"Uh, okay." Peter decided that his conviction to stay had definitively dwindle to nonexistent, and it was time to make a swift, neat exit. He had returned the shield, met his idols, and found out they were all very… unique. Weird. While that only made them even cooler in his opinion, Peter didn't think he could take any more tonight. And he'd only been awake for a few hours…

"I have to go now; your shield is here, Mr. Rog- Steve, so I'll just grab my bag and-"

"Hold up," Tony interrupted, raising his hand directly in front of Peter's face. "I like you, kid. I promised you a party, right? Let's throw a party!"

"With all due respect sir, I think a 'Tony' party would kill me right now."

The billionaire's eyes narrowed dangerously. "Did I say you could call me Tony?"

Peter stared back blankly. "You just showed you don't like 'Mr. Stark', 'Iron Man' seems somewhat inappropriate in this setting, and I don't care what you say, I'm not calling you 'Lord Iron', it's not happening."

Tony glared at the boy a moment longer before breaking out an easy, slightly more genuine grin. "Yep, definitely like you. And don't worry, I'll keep it small; it'll be just us," he gestured around the room. "And Natasha."

"That's not helping; I've already met her. I know."

"Yes, I'll go make arrangements now. It'll just take one hour, tops."

Bruce shook his head. "You operate on an entirely separate time stream then everyone else, Tony. An hour to you equates to a span of ten minutes to a day for us regular mortals."

"I'm not a mortal," Thor ensured to clarify.

"You three, with me. Clint, stay here and make sure Petey doesn't leave."

"Why yes, I am in a lot of pain, thanks for noticing Tony. Yes, I would love to stay seated to slow the bleeding, thanks for your concern."

"I'm in the elevator, so I can't hear yoooou!" Tony stretched out the "ew" until the doors closed, leaving Peter and Clint once again alone. There was no silence this time.

"So," Peter wondered aloud, "the cookies, huh?"

"Yep," Clint said, drumming his fingers on his knees as he sat slumped over, "Jarvis made them. I don't know how exactly, but they were sitting on a plate in the kitchen this morning with a note that said if I want to live, I should save them for later, love your savior, Jarvis. They have raisins, chocolate, and nuts in them, which is Nat's favorite. I think that's why they survived the ambush."

"Good." Peter waited another minute in silence. "I love cookies, you know."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. And nuts and raisins."

"Me too."

"… Milk goes with cookies really well."

"Agreed."

"… I don't think she will be forgiving your horrendous crime any time soon, and stale cookies don't make anyone's day."

Clint got up from the sofa and made to walk towards the connected kitchen. "I'll go get some milk and plates."

"Leave the cookies here."

"… Fine."

~ A Tony Hour Later ~

The party, as it turned out, was an extremely informal affair, for which Peter was grateful for. In fact, it almost seemed to be turning into something like a movie night. All of the Avengers had abandoned their day clothes for hero-themed pajamas at Tony's tenacious insistence, which caused Peter no small amount of delight. Steve's shirt with a print of America's silhouette sporting a classic ship captain's hat and Tony's red "It's ALL Iron Hard Here" top filled him with so much mirth he could almost pretend Natasha didn't look even more terrifying covered in black widows.

When the credits for Forest Gump started rolling over the screen, a dong resonated through the room. Peter looked at the wall in confusion before tensing in panic; a fancy clock read the time to be midnight. When did I tell Aunt May I'd be home by? Wait… did I even see her before I left? Oh crap, I promised myself I wouldn't make her worry about me like this since I hung up my mask. I gotta go.

Peter glanced around and saw most of the Avengers sprawled throughout the room, asleep in various position. He delicately removed Clint's right leg from over his lap and stood up, which caused Thor to collapse sideways onto the space Peter had just vacated. Fishing out the pink sticky note with the elevator code on it from his briefcase, he made his way to the shiny doors, ready to leave.

"Where are you going?"

Turing around, Peter saw Tony stretch awake on his personal chair, gaze firmly fixed on Peter. For some reason it made him feel like a child caught with his hands in the cookie jar, even though he never actually got to eat any of them once Thor set his sights on the plate of calories.

"It's really late and I've got to get home," Peter explained quietly, not wanting to wake anyone else and face a horde of grouchy, overpowered heroes.

"Nonsense," Tony argued. "Since it is so late you can just stay over; there's enough room here to house an army of you skinny teenagers. We can have a Superhero Slumber Party! Well, except for you, of course."

Oh, of course. Not. "Yeah, no. I mean, I've really got to get home; my aunt is probably worried about me."

"A distressed old woman with maternal instincts? Ah, you've figured out my weakness. All right, but at least allow me to walk you out. Like a gentleman."

"You want to get away from Clint's snoring too?"

"He is the reason we can't have nice things."

"I'd believe it."

The two got in the elevator. Peter made to press the lobby button, but Tony beat him to it.

"Jarvis, bring us down to the pedestrian entrance please."

"Of course sir," a British voice replied. Peter stared at the ceiling in reverence.

"I've read about your A.I., but it is so much more incredible to witness in person."

"Ya know, most people jump when they first hear Jarvis's voice."

"I'm in too much awe to waste time on useless normalities."

"That's what I keep trying to tell other people! But they never understand."

"No, they never do."

When the elevator stopped its decent and the two exited onto the main floor, Peter felt sure he was going to succeed in making his clean exit, albeit a few hours later than expected. Then he heard the screaming.

"Ow god dammit! What kind of parent are you! Have fun rotting in prison you asshole. Why do all the delusional psychos come to this reception desk?"

"What happened Katy?" Tony asked, striding forward. Peter saw the secretary from before standing behind her desk, holding a chunk of paper against her bleeding side to put pressure on a wound. Three ginormous security guards were dragging away a screaming man and a small child carrying an oversized lollipop and a… pistol? One of the guards grabbed the weapon from the boy's hand as Peter watched. What is wrong with the world?

Not until the group was almost out of the room and standing inside another set of elevators at the opposite end of the room could Peter make out what the man was yelling.

"The truth will be told; blood will be spilt; they all will fall!"

His muscles tensing, Peter froze at hearing the familiar words, the phrase he had read over and over again last night, spoken aloud. Before he could think of making a move towards the man, the doors had closed, cutting off his line of sight and the possibility of answers. Still uneasy, Peter turned his attention back to Tony and Katy.

"- then after I had the guy subdued with my awesomeness, the little kid pulls out a gun and shoots me. He couldn't have been more than eight! What even, right? Luckily his aim was shit, so the bullet just scrapped my side," Katy recounted.

"Uh, speaking of bullets," Peter spoke up, eyes on the rapidly reddening white papers, "shouldn't you go, maybe, see a doctor? I mean, a doctor doctor, not a doctor like Tony."

"Ouch."

"Yeeeah," Katy drew out, also eyeing the blood. "This is starting to sting a bit."

"I'll call a car; you sit down and keep pressure on your side. Do you know if the bullet went all the way through and how far in you were hit?" Tony asked, pulling out a phone as concern started to enter his voice.

Katy grinned at him. "Tis just a flesh wound, boss man; I'm sure of it. No need to get your man panties in a twist. Sir. Does this car have a mini bar in it? I think I'll need alcohol to numb the pain."

"It does now."

"This is why you get all the ladies." The girl grabbed another stack of paper and walked around the desk, heading for the front doors. "I'll just wait outside then; I don't like the sight of blood." Based on the last, and first, time he'd met her, Peter somewhat doubted that. "Oh, and I guess this means I'll be out for a while. Good luck finding someone half as cool as me to fill in. See you later sweetie; be sure not to forget your right from your left," she winked at Peter as she stepped out.

"What?" Tony stared suspiciously at Peter. "Have you tried to flirt with my secretary before?"

Peter blushed. "If I ever tried to pick up a girl, I assure you they wouldn't even know it. I'm that smooth."

"You mean ineffective?"

"Synonyms."

"Sure." Glancing at the mess behind the reception desk, Tony sighed. "I don't have a secretary any more. I feel bare. And Pepper is busy at her own lamer-than-mine company…" He suddenly snapped his head towards Peter. "Are you looking for a job?"

"No," he answered immediately. He'd stopped being Spider-Man to avoid situations where he would be in charge of other people's safety, at least until he felt ready for the responsibility. Since he wasn't sure if he was yet and the secretary position seemed to be more than just answering the phone, Peter wasn't going to dive head first into a hazardous job. "I don't like blood either." If Katy is allowed to lie, than I can to. Equal rights for prevaricators.

"What if I told you it pays well and comes with a scholarship to a college of your choice?"

Peter paused. While the obvious downside was glaring him in the face, there were some positives as well. He wouldn't have to worry so much about getting a scholarship to Empire State University if he was guaranteed one already. And he could hang around the Avengers more as well…

"I'll think about it," Peter finally said. "Thanks for walking me down and being all gentlemanly. It made me feel like a real lady." He made a break for the door, more than ready to escape these serious, life-altering questions.

"You start tomorrow at seven sharp!" Tony called after him. Peter waved a hand over his shoulder in response, then stepped out into the cool night air and began his trek home.

Finally alone, Peter took the opportunity to check his phone for any missed calls from his aunt. Instead he found another object in his pocket: the flash drive. Damn, I forgot to return it. Well, I have to come back tomorrow anyways, either to reject or accept the job offer. My science project is never going to get done at this rate. With a sigh, Peter ignored the black stick and brought out his phone, pressing a button and bringing it to life. He immediately wished he had just thrown it out the window like he'd promised.

End Author's Note: Yes, yes I was hungry while writing this. You are too now? Good.

*Challenge: assign the four threats towards Clint with the correct four Avengers. Winners get a virtual chocolate nut raisin cookie (unless they're virtually allergic to nuts; then they get nothing).